


Know When to Hold 'Em

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Cards on the Table [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Asexual Character, Asexual Steve Rogers, Asexuality, Emotional Roller Coaster, Incubus Bucky, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV Multiple, Succubi & Incubi, Succubus Natasha, salty language and sex talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Incubi were meant to be immortal predators, feeding directly from the energy generated when they had sex. They weren't meant to be scavengers, feeding off the ambient energy left over when <i>other</i> people had sex, even if they could live that way, even it could keep them healthy. </p><p>Bucky had been happily doing so for the past four years, but what he didn't know, what none of them knew, was that there were consequences for not feeding the way incubi were meant to feed, consequences he and Steve were going to have to deal with. </p><p>(It's Asexual Steve/Incubus Bucky, and the sequel to <i>An Ace Up My Sleeve</i>, which you really should read first because a lot of this isn't going to make sense otherwise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know When to Hold 'Em

**Author's Note:**

> _An Ace Up My Sleeve_ was my third 'immortal in love with a human' fic and for some reason it was the one that grabbed my brain and _demanded_ to have that little fact dealt with. 
> 
> I'm not sure what to say here, warning wise. Maybe just be aware that this gets pretty emotionally heavy, that while it has a very different tone from _Ace Up My Sleeve_ Steve and Bucky still love each other _so much_ , and that the story spans a lifetime. 
> 
> The title comes from _The Gambler_ by Kenny Rogers:   
>     
>  _You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em_  
>  _Know when to walk away, and know when to run_

* * *

 

The sun slanted in through the bedroom window, sneaking around the curtain to paint half the bed in golden light. Bucky shoved the covers down so the light was warming his bare chest and waited. It didn't take long. There was a small snuffling noise and Bucky grinned. Steve twisted, rolled over, and flung an arm over Bucky's stomach, pressing his cheek against Bucky's sun-warmed skin. Every morning, it was the same thing. Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's hair, drawing a sleepy, contented sigh from him as he snuggled closer.

Things had changed in four years. It wasn't the same apartment; they'd moved two years ago. Thankfully inconsiderate, sexually adventurous neighbours weren't difficult to find, so Bucky still had a constant source of food. The biggest change was that Bucky didn't carry his note with him. The paper had grown worn and fragile from constant handling, so it was hanging framed above their bed.

Bucky had spent a frantic day three years ago, thinking he'd lost it, when Steve had come home from work and handed it to him, newly framed.

_"I thought you thought this was stupid?" he'd asked lightly, not serious, trying to hide how relieved he'd been._

_Steve had smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Nah, I thought_ you _were an idiot about it. It was never the note's fault." He'd tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair as Bucky rested his forehead against his stomach. "And I never even thought that," he'd finished softly. "You okay?"_

_"Yeah. I thought I lost it."_

_"Sorry. I know what it means to you." Steve had leaned down, kissed the top of his head again. "I wanted to make sure it was safe."_

There were so many reasons Bucky loved this man. Steve sighed again and the arm around Bucky tightened. His tendency to imitate an octopus before he was even awake in the morning was just one of them.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was brushing his teeth, leaning his hip against the bathroom sink. He could hear Steve making coffee in the kitchen, heard him swear when he realised they were out of beans and he was going to have to drink instant.

That was Bucky's fault. He loved Steve, but the man had been drinking whatever cheap crap he'd find at the grocery store. It had been intolerable. Bucky had put his foot down when he'd moved in. Steve could keep the cheap crap on hand for emergencies, but that was it. It was proper coffee from now on. Beans, freshly ground, and the first thing he'd done when he'd moved in was set his gleaming machine up on Steve's counter...on their counter, he'd corrected himself with an odd sense of giddiness. He'd barely managed to stop himself from laughing out loud at Steve's wary stare.

It had taken Steve exactly two days to become addicted, which meant cursing when they managed to run out. Bucky spat toothpaste into the sink, called, "I'll get some later," and rinsed his toothbrush.

"That doesn’t help me now," Steve called back grumpily.

Amused, Bucky shook his head, rinsed his mouth, and frowned at something glinting in the mirror. He leaned in, staring at his head. There was a silver hair.

He had a silver hair.

It was short, waving innocently at his hairline, soft when he touched it. It was barely visible. He wouldn’t have seen it if the light hadn't been exactly right.

He could feel himself shutting down, felt like there was cold flowing through his veins, like his heart was slowing, growing sluggish.

It shouldn't be there. Bucky dropped the illusion that kept him in human shape, hard to do at the best of times, harder now, and it was still there. Waving at him. As he watched, his human shape reasserted itself, the hair remaining stubbornly silver, and he shivered. Backed away from the mirror like it held a monster.

Incubi didn't age. They didn't get old. They didn't get silver hairs. Their faces didn't wrinkle, their bodies didn't sag. They didn't _change._ They stayed the same forever, young and beautiful, the perfect lure.

Bucky never let himself think about that, because he knew what it meant, knew what it would come to. Knew what he'd have to watch, have to live through. But not yet, he didn't have to think about it _yet_. Except here was a tiny silver hair and it felt like something huge had fractured his world.

Before Steve, he'd spent hours staring at his own face, making himself the perfect predator. Now, he was so used to seeing himself through Steve's eyes he spent almost no time in front of the mirror. Looking at himself, _really_ looking, he could see tiny changes, things no one else would've noticed, but his face had been the same for almost three hundred years. They must have been there before, but he hadn't seen them.

Until the hair. The single silver hair.

Bucky panicked. He walked blindly to the living room, pulled on his shoes, shoved his phone, wallet and keys in his pockets.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice was concerned, he was walking over, was reaching for him. Bucky pressed into the touch, felt it anchor him in place, pushing the panic down. "Bucky," he said again, softer. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he said. Held up his hands and stepped away. "I've got to go. It's not you. I'm not, it's nothing you did. I've just got to go. I'll be back."

"Okay, Bucky. Whatever you need."

It pulled a small, shaky smile out of him. "You're not supposed to say that. You promised, remember?"

"Sometimes it's all right." Steve's eyes were serious. "You'll tell me if you need me to do anything."

"Yeah, Steve. I will."

 

* * *

 

He went to Natasha's. He'd only been there once before, when she'd needed help moving her monster of a new TV. Natasha came to their place regularly enough she could have been listed on the lease, but she didn't entertain. She didn't like people in her apartment. This once, Bucky decided, she could make an exception.

He banged on her door and the scowl on her face when she opened it disappeared when she got a look at him. She grabbed his sleeve, pulled him in, and shoved him into a chair.

"Sit, don't talk yet." She walked away and he heard her rattling around in the kitchen, wasn't surprised when she came back with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Bucky watched, admiring her efficiency, as she shoved them into his hands, pulled a chair up in front of his, sat down, took the vodka back, poured for them both, put the bottle on the floor, lifted a glass from his hand, and then looked at him expectantly. "Is it Steve?"

He shook his head, somehow not surprised at the question. Bucky sometimes thought Natasha liked Steve more than she liked him. He didn't mind. "Look," he said, leaning forward and parting his hair with one hand.

She leaned in, examining his hairline. He could tell the moment she saw it. Her body tensed, almost imperceptibly, but he'd known her a very long time; he could see it. She leaned back, took a sip of vodka, and studied him over the rim of her glass. "You just found it?"

"Yeah."

"Drink your vodka." He obeyed, took a long sip and felt the cold burn sliding down his throat, curling into his stomach. Trust Natasha to have only the best. He felt it gently reach out to him, urging him to relax, just a little, and it was more than he had in him to refuse. He let out a tiny sigh. "Did you think there weren't going to be any consequences?"

He twitched in his chair. "What?"

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "We're demons, but we have bodies. We're made to fuck and feed. We're predators, not scavengers. The ambient feeding, it's enough to keep you alive and healthy, you're not hungry, you're not weak, but that's all. As long as you're feeding that way, as long as you're scavenging not hunting, your body's going to do what a body does. It's going to age."

Bucky took another long sip of vodka, felt it do its best to comfort him. Looked from his glass to Natasha. "How long have you known?"

"Around a year." She swirled the vodka in her glass. "I thought you looked different when we never look different. I talked to a few demons, a few creatures who know about these things." At Bucky's alarmed look, her mouth curved up. "Discreetly. I wouldn't put Steve in danger." After a beat she added, "Or you."

"And you never said anything?"

"What would I have said, Bucky?" Her voice was incredibly kind. "Fuck someone quick or convince Steve to let you fuck him, or you're going to start aging? What would you have said? What would you have done?"

A slow burn of anger hit him at _fuck someone quick_ ; at _convince Steve_ it exploded into an inferno of rage he couldn't keep off his face.

"Exactly," she said, holding his eyes.

He looked away, took several deep breaths, pushing down the anger. "Fuck."

"What do you want to do?"

What did he want to do? He didn't want to lose Steve. At the heart of everything, that was all he wanted. It was why he'd been refusing to think about what the future held: Steve growing old and dying while Bucky went on forever, perfect and young and unchanging, forced to watch it happen.

If Steve would let him.

It was inevitable they'd reach a point where the difference between them would be so great, where Steve would be so old compared with Bucky's apparent youth, Bucky wasn't sure even Steve's love would be enough to let Bucky keep him. Pressure from other people, from society, might prove stronger. Or Steve might somehow think making Bucky go when he was that old was for Bucky's own good. And then he'd have to walk away. Go back to an endless empty forever, to an eternity that didn't have Steve in it.

It _had been_ inevitable. A fierce flame of hope stole his breath.

" _I want it_." He looked up to meet Natasha's eyes. "Natasha. I want it."

"You know what you're saying."

He set his glass on the floor and reached for her hand with both of his. When she let him he was surprised. They didn't touch each other, not like this. He folded his hands around hers, held it maybe too hard, and she squeezed his in return. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I was going to have to stand by, completely fucking helpless, and watch him while he got old and died. Instead I get a chance to be with him forever. It's not what you and me mean by forever, but it's better. For Steve and me? It's _better._ "

He almost flinched when she stood, because when she moved that fast it was usually right before she smacked him in the head. Instead she hauled him up by his hand and into a hug. "I still think you're both morons," she whispered in his ear, but she was holding him tightly.

"I'm not arguing with you," he said, holding her just as tightly. "Definitely not arguing."

 

* * *

 

Bucky came home to a quiet apartment, the only noise the little sounds that meant Steve was in his office. He had a bag of coffee beans in one hand and an intense swirl of hope and fear and trepidation in his guts. He went into the kitchen to turn the beans into coffee; there was nothing that useful he could do with the swirl of emotions.

The sound of Bucky making coffee drew Steve out of his office. As always when Bucky interrupted him deep in the middle of something, he was adorably distracted, eyes unfocused, hair mussed. He walked up behind Bucky and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him close. No matter how lost he still was in what he'd been working on, he obviously remembered how upset Bucky had been when he'd left. "Coffee?" Bucky asked. Steve's only response was an affirmative noise. "Steve?"

Something in Bucky's tone seemed to get his attention, pulling him into here and now. He straightened a little, leaning his head around so he could see Bucky's face. "What do you need?"

"Can you clock off for the day? I need to talk to you." And this probably wasn't fair. There was no need to talk to him right this minute. It could wait, all of it could wait, except it was like bugs under his skin, itching to get out, and he _couldn't_ wait.

Steve searched his face. "No problem. This project isn't due for weeks. Let me go save everything and I'm all yours." He kissed Bucky's cheek, unwound himself, and disappeared into his office. When he came back out, Bucky waved him towards the couch. It seemed appropriate, since that was where it had begun. It was even the same couch, Bucky insisting they hang onto it when Steve had wanted to get rid of it when they'd moved. Steve had laughed at him and kissed him and called him a sentimental idiot. Bucky hadn't been able to argue.

Bucky put two mugs on the coffee table and sat next to them, his knees on either side of Steve's. Steve, who was looking at him curiously. A bit worried around the eyes, but Bucky knew it was _for_ him. He drew in a little breath and let it out. Leaned forward. "Have a look," he said, pushing apart his hair to show the tiny silver one that had started this all.

Steve leaned forward, his fingers gentle against Bucky's cheek, his other hand brushing through Bucky's hair. "What am I looking for?"

"There's a silver hair."

After a bit of looking, Steve found it. Bucky felt him give it a gentle tug. "That's what you're worried about?" he asked as he leaned back, looking amused. "You're beautiful. I don't think one grey hair's going to change that." He tipped his head, looked thoughtful. "Actually, you'd look gorgeous with a bit of silver here and here." He brushed his fingers across the hair at Bucky's temples.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that." Bucky reached up to catch Steve's hand, folded it between both of his. "But the silver hair is a big deal."

Steve let out a quick laugh, but it stopped as he took in Bucky's expression: serious and uncertain. "Bucky?" he asked, squeezing Bucky's hand. "What am I missing?"

"Incubi don't age. I don't know if you knew that, or." He stopped because Steve's expression was verging towards guilty. "You knew."

"I did some research. Most of it just dumped me into porn." At Bucky's raised eyebrows, he said, "There's a lot of porn about incubi and succubi on the internet. _A lot_. But I did find some actual information. Some things I knew were flat out wrong, but all of it said incubi and succubi were immortal. I figured if everyone agreed, it was probably right."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Are you mad I didn't tell you?"

"No."

"Why not?" Not that he wanted Steve to be mad, he just wasn’t sure _why_ he wasn't.

Steve's smile was gentle. "Bucky. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready. When you needed to. Is that what this is?"

He lifted their joined hands and kissed Steve's. "No, this is something different. This is about the silver hair."

"I'm surprised you can get grey hairs if you can't age."

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, opened them. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so smart."

"Bucky?"

"You can't," he said, watching Steve closely. "Incubi don't change. They don't get grey hairs. They stay exactly the same, day in and day out. Natasha's looked the same for over seven hundred years." Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Until I met you, I'd looked the same for around three hundred."

Steve's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really." He could see Steve turning it over, see the moment he worked it out.

"What do you mean, until you met me?"

"I didn't know." Bucky leaned forward. "Steve, I didn't know until Natasha told me, that was where I went when I left, and she only found out recently. But feeding off other people's sex? It's good, it keeps me healthy, keeps me well-fed." His hands tightened around Steve's. "But that's all it does. It's not enough to keep me from aging." He saw the question on Steve's face, answered it. "That takes feeding while actually having sex with someone." 

There was a flash of hurt in Steve's eyes as he spoke. "Are you—"

He didn't get any further before Bucky interrupted him. "No. Steve, don't ever think that. No. I love you. I'm not leaving you." He was hoping that would make Steve relax, take that hurt look out of his eyes. He wasn't expecting Steve to pull his hands away, curl them against his stomach. "Steve?"

"You're aging because you're with me."

Bucky stared at him. "Steve, no."

"Yes, you are. You're aging because you're not having sex. You're not having sex because you're with me."

"Stop. Stop right now. Don't do that. Don't think that. I'm with you because I love you. Because I'm lucky enough to have you love me. Nothing else is important apart from that."

"But—"

"No. Do you believe that I love you?"

"Of course."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. More than anything."

"Then don't go where you just tried to go. Don't take either of us there."

Steve's expression went mulish and Bucky rested a hand on his knee. "I'm aging because I'm not feeding the way incubi were made to feed. That's my choice. Okay?"

There was a long tense silence before Steve said, "Okay." He slumped against the back of the couch.

Bucky squeezed his knee. "And it's a choice that means I get to grow old with you," he said, and there was a thread of wonder in his voice.

"And by grow old, you mean you'll die," Steve said flatly.

Bucky raised his hands, let them fall.

"What if you had sex with other people?"

"You don't want that," Bucky said, surprised. "You said that to me, you can't share someone you're in a relationship with. You'd hate that. Steve, you'd be miserable."

"I'd cope."

"Well, _I_ don't want to," Bucky replied firmly. "There’s a reason I didn’t have sex with anyone after I met you, and that was before we were together. None of them were you."

"But you could?"

"I could. Physically, I could do my part, one of the joys of being an incubus, but I don't want to. I want to be with you, I want this life. I don't want to watch you grow old and die and leave me alone. This means I get to grow old _with you_ instead. Steve, this is a good thing."

"You can't mean that."

"I can and I do."

"Bucky, you're talking about dying."

"I’m not talking about dying _tomorrow._ I'm talking about dying a lifetime from now, a lifetime I get to spend with you." He reached out to touch Steve, wasn't sure if he was going to grasp his shoulder, or touch his face, or pull him into a hug, but it didn't matter.

Steve pulled away.

Bucky let his hand fall. It was the first time he hadn’t let Bucky touch him. "Steve?"

Steve took a deep breath and there was no expression on his face. His hands were wrapped around each other and his knuckles were white, the tendons in his arms were corded steel. Bucky braced himself for whatever was coming. "If other people aren't okay. You could, with me."

It took Bucky a few moments to understand exactly what he was getting at. When he did, he couldn't take his eyes off Steve's knuckles, the white skin that told him exactly how hard his grip was. That told him exactly how much Steve hated what he'd just said, how much it had cost him. It took him a minute to speak, a minute to find the right words, and when he did they were cruder than he'd usually use with Steve. "Do you know what I think about when I jerk off?" he asked, lifting his eyes to Steve's face.

Steve looked uncomfortable, but shook his head.

"I think about you." He could see Steve's discomfort increasing, but he kept going. "But not fucking you or sucking you off or _anything_ like that. Because you'd hate it, worse than hate it, and there's nothing about the idea of doing something to you that you'd hate that turns me on. If I couldn't get turned on _imagining_ it how do you think I'd ever actually do it to you? Yeah, I'm an incubus, I could get hard and stay that way. But fuck, Steve, it kind of makes me sick. The first thing you ever wrote on my note was that it was never okay to touch your nipples or your ass or your dick. So no, that is _not_ an option. That's never going to be an option." He was breathing hard, was horrified to realise his eyes were wet. He squeezed them shut, took several deep breaths, and got himself under control. "I'll take my note out of the frame, get it laminated, and staple it to your chest if I have to."

Steve was silent. The minutes ticked past, then, "Maybe duct tape instead of staples?"

"Okay." He was relieved to see Steve's hands had relaxed. "But I'm keeping the staples in reserve."

"That sounds fair." Steve breathed deep, let it out slowly, met Bucky's eyes. "That was a bad idea."

"It really was, but it's all right," Bucky said. "Just please don't do it again?"

"I won't." Steve's voice was serious and it sent a wash of relief through him. He was surprised when Steve asked, "What _do_ you think about? And I admit I might regret the question."

"You being an octopus in the mornings, the little noises you make in your sleep, when you wrap your arms around me. Honestly, there's not a lot of actual thinking going on." Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, because even in the middle of all of this, he could still laugh at himself. "Steve, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but by the time I leave I'm so far gone it doesn't take much."

"You _are_ never away for very long."

"That's because I want to get back to you. Afterglow's the best part."

They exchanged warm smiles and Bucky wanted to lose himself in Steve's, but it faded before his eyes. "What are we going to do?" Steve asked, sounding a little lost.

Bucky's smile faded in response, like it couldn't live without the brightness of Steve's. "Why do we have to do anything?"

"Because you're going to die when that's not something that's supposed to happen to you."

"No, we're going to get to live a long life _together_ , grow old _together_ , when that was something I was never going to get to have."

"Bucky, you can't." Steve shook his head, got that stubborn look on his face that usually amused Bucky. Right now it scared the shit out of him. "I can't stand by and let this happen. You're going to die when you're not supposed to. I can't let you. It's not right and I—"

"Stop." In Steve's stubborn face, Bucky could see it all unravelling. See the future unrolling in front of him, the _wrong_ future. Steve leaving him, convinced he was somehow saving Bucky’s life. Or making Bucky fuck other people, and Bucky wasn't going to pretend he wouldn't if it was the only way to keep Steve, but it would break something in Steve and he was pretty sure it would break something in _him_. "Steve, stop. Let's just give it a day to think. Twenty-four hours. That's not much against four years, is it?"

"A day to think." He let out a long breath. "Good idea."

He suddenly seemed so far away, even with his knees tucked between Bucky's.  "Steve?"

Steve looked at him questioningly.

"Can I hold you?" Bucky asked, and he hated how uncertain he sounded. He hated that he was even _asking_ , when he'd normally just wrap his arms around Steve, maybe smugly proclaim that he had a note.

Steve's face was surprised. "Of course. You don't have to ask." Steve reached for him, caught Bucky's hands and tugged, and Bucky went, slid his arms around Steve and hung onto him as hard as he could; tried to wrap himself around Steve completely and lost himself in it, in case this might be one of his last chances.

 

* * *

 

Steve knew from the line of people waiting outside the club that he didn't fit in. He was wearing his old pale blue jeans, his brown hiking boots, his black sweater, everything soft and comfortable. _Nothing_ about the line of people was comfortable. Or soft. They were all black and red and silver, exposed flesh and sharp edges.

Despite this being where Bucky worked and Natasha hunted, he'd never actually been here and nothing but the creeping edge of desperation could have driven him down here now. He was pretty sure there was zero chance he'd be allowed in on his own and he doubted there was anywhere short of an actual sex club he'd be more out of place _._

But he was here now, because Natasha should be here. There was no one else he could talk to and he couldn't wait until tomorrow. He felt like his heart was going to crack into pieces and crumble out of his body. The look on Bucky's face when Steve had said he was going out, that he'd be back later, had hurt. There'd been something in his eyes that felt like he'd given up. Steve had done that, had put that look there. He had to fix this.

Natasha wasn't the person to come to for comfort, but he trusted her, he trusted her to be honest with him. He needed that. He needed her.

Steve made his way up the side of the line, pretended he didn't see the glares, didn't hear the hisses. Or the wolf whistles. He approached the least scowling of the bouncers and said, "Hi."

The guy gave him a clearly dismissive look and said, "Don't even bother going to the back of the line. You won't be getting in."

"I need to talk to Natasha. I don't need to go in, but is there any chance someone could let her know I'm out here?"

The look he was getting now was mingled disbelief and pity. "You think _Natasha's_ going to come out and talk to _you_."

Steve pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and showed him Natasha's number with her photo next to it. "Yes. I called her but she's not answering, it's probably too loud in there." He took a deep breath. "It's important." Only desperation made him try the smile he knew made Bucky weak at the knees.

The guy smiled back, caught himself with a scowl, then heaved a sigh, waved a hand at someone inside the entrance. "What's your name?"

"Steve."

"Jeremy, go see if Natasha wants to talk to a Steve."

Jeremy gave him a slow and blatant once over that made him feel very uncomfortable and very naked and trotted off into the club. He returned a few minutes later. "She said to bring him in."

"Huh. That was not the answer I was expecting. In you go, Steve." And he was waved into the noise and heat and darkness of the club. He stuck close to Jeremy, because he was certain he wouldn’t be able to find her if he lost sight of his guide.

Natasha was holding court at the bar and Steve had never seen her looking so predatory. It was a sharp reminder of what she was, when he was used to seeing her grumpy or tired or laughing at Bucky or, on very rare occasions, asleep on their couch. 

She waved the men and women crowded around her away, slid off the bar stool and walked over to grab Steve's chin, pulling his head down to study his face. He didn't mind; he was used to it from her. She shook her head, shifted her grip to his arm, and pulled him after her through a Staff Only door. When it closed behind them, the sudden silence was almost a physical thing. Natasha didn't break it and neither did Steve, not even when she pushed open another door marked Staff Only and pulled him inside.

The walls were lined with cases of alcohol, wine and spirits and beer. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what to say. He suddenly felt overwhelmed with everything he didn't have words for.

"Oh, Steve." Natasha's voice was soft and she was pulling him into a hug. He felt his throat seize up, felt it close, felt pressure behind his eyes and he was crying. He couldn’t stop it. He buried his face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out. "Natasha, I'm sorry."

"Hush." She stroked his back, long soothing strokes. Ran her hand up into his hair, fingers gentle. "It's all right." He didn't know how she did it, when she was so small compared to him, but she made him feel like he was about five foot nothing and she was a giant, keeping him safe as she let him cry on her shoulder. She kept stroking his back and running her fingers through his hair and didn't tell him it was going to be okay.

He got himself under control. Stepped away, rubbing his eyes on his sleeves, and pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket to blow his nose. "Sorry. I didn't know that was going to happen."

"It's okay, Steve. I was expecting you to show up. I wasn't expecting you to leak all over me," she said, gently teasing. "But I think I can handle it." She studied him. "Bucky talked to you."

"I'm not sure anything else would have made me come down here."

"No, you don't really fit in. What did he say to you?"

"He said he's started aging because he's not having sex." The look Natasha gave him made him feel even smaller than he'd felt a minute ago. "No he didn't. He said he's aging because he's not feeding the way incubi were made to feed. But it's the same thing."

"Is it?"

Steve ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know. Natasha, all I know is he's going to die when he was never supposed to and he doesn’t seem to care."

"Why don't you think he cares?"

"Because all he keeps talking about is how it means he doesn’t have to watch me get old and die, how it means he gets to grow old with me."

"And what does that tell you?"

He gave her a flat look. "It tells me I know what you're doing."

"It doesn't mean it's not going to work. What does that tell you?"

He sighed. "It tells me Bucky doesn't think enough of himself. He's so damned focused on me, he's not thinking about the fact that he's _going to die_."

"Maybe you're the one who's too hung up on that."

"I don't think I _can_ be too hung up on it."

"How very human of you."

"What?"

"We're not human. I think you forget that sometimes. Death is your bogeyman, not ours. You've been terrified of it since you were hiding in caves, keeping back the darkness with torches dipped in animal fat. Why do you think it's so easy to prey on you?" Hips swaying, eyes hooded, she closed the distance between them as her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Sex lets you keep death at bay, lets you believe, even if it's just for a night, for an hour, that you can escape your fate. It's why I barely need to use my power." She was entirely a predator now, her hand sliding up his chest, the tips of her nails coming to rest in the hollow of his throat.

Steve looked down at her patiently. "You know that doesn't work on me."

"Well, you're a special case." She patted his chest, simply Natasha again, and her voice was gentle. "There’s no choice that lets you stay with _him_ , going on and on forever. That means he only has two choices: the one that lets him stay with you, lets you grow old together. Or the one that forces him to stand by and watch you die, then go on alone. "

"He wouldn’t be alone, he’d have you."

Natasha cupped his cheek. "He doesn’t love me and I don’t love him, not the way he loves you. I didn’t think we _could_ love the way he loves you. We're not made for it. Maybe it could only ever have happened with the two of you." She smiled. "You're who you are and he's always been a bit strange."

Steve couldn't help a small smile in return and she let him go, ruffled her fingers through his hair.

"You want him to hoard his years like a miser with a pile of gold, as if the only value they have is how many he has. He doesn't want that. He wants to spend them on you. He wants to choose you. If he wants to make that choice, you don't have the right to take it away from him."

It hit Steve like a blow, hearing Natasha say _If he wants to make that choice, you don't have the right to take it away from him,_ and he wrapped his arms around himself. He _didn't_ have the right to make Bucky's choices for him. But letting go without a fight, god, it felt selfish. It felt so fucking selfish...Steve pressed his hands over his eyes.

"Steve. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. If you don't love him, you need to tell him." Steve dropped his hands and stared at her in horror. "You need to tell him now." He shook his head. "But if you love him, if you trust him? You have to let him make his choice."

He stood, head down, eyes closed, breathing deep. Trying to find where the balance lay. Trying to find a path through it. Trying to separate out his gut reaction that Bucky would die, so it _was wrong_ , it _wasn't allowed_ —and Natasha was right, that was very human—and his edge of guilt, no matter what he'd said to Bucky, and wasn’t that just as selfish, letting guilt try and make him fight what Bucky wanted. _Fuck, it was, wasn't it?_ "I do, don't I?"

"Yes."

"It's his choice, not mine."

"Yes."

He met her eyes. "If you could undo it, make it so we never met, would you?"

"Yes," she replied with no hesitation.

"Oh." It hurt, it was so unexpected, and it must have shown, because she touched his arm gently.

"Not because of you. Because neither of you were made for this. Incubi weren’t made for hard choices and you're human. You were made to fall in love with another human, who was always going to age with you."

He took it in, nodded. "I need to get home."

"You know where to find me if you need me."

"Thank you." Steve put a hand on her shoulder, leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Natasha, thank you."

"Go."

Steve paused with his hand on the door, turned back. "Natasha?"

"Yes?"

"You know I love you, right?"

She looked startled.

"Because I do. After Bucky, you're the most important person to me in the world. If you didn't know that, you should."

"Go home, Steve," she said, but there was a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

 

* * *

 

Steve came through their front door, pushing it shut behind him. Bucky was sitting on the couch. He looked small, somehow, and the smile he offered was tentative. It hurt. It hurt, because Bucky never looked like that. Steve had made him look like that. He was moving before he had time to think about it, hit the floor in front of Bucky hard enough he felt a sharp pain in his knees, but he didn't care. "I love you," he said, resting his cheek on Bucky's thigh.

"I love you," Bucky replied softly, sliding both hands into Steve's hair.

"I'm sorry." Steve tilted his head to look up at him. "I'm sorry I scared you." Because that explained why Bucky had _asked_ to hold him. As if Steve would ever not let Bucky hold him, as if Bucky ever needed to _ask_. "I'm sorry I made you doubt me. I’m sorry for everything. I think I screwed this up pretty badly."

Bucky's smile was softer, more certain. "It's okay, Steve. It's all right."

"I don't think it is."

"Let's pretend it is, then, or we're going to be here all night, with you apologising and me telling you it's okay."

It made Steve laugh quietly, like he knew it was supposed to, and he leaned into Bucky's hand as it pressed against his cheek. "Deal," he said, and turned his head to kiss Bucky's palm. "There's something I need to say to you."

He felt Bucky's muscles tense and his fingers curled against his cheek. Steve lifted his head, grabbed Bucky's hand. "I didn't understand. I'm not sure I do now, not completely, but Natasha tried to explain."

"Is that where you went?"

"Where else?"

"She's going to start charging us at this rate."

"Maybe, but I think she likes telling us what to do." He rubbed his thumb over Bucky's hand. "You're not upset about aging, about getting old, because for you it's a good thing, even though you know what has to come at the end of it. You think it's a good thing because it means we can be together, that you'll get old with me instead of watching me. It's you choosing us, choosing me."

"Steve." The expression on Bucky's face was fond, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes that Steve knew meant he thought Steve was being a bit slow. "I chose you the moment I woke up naked in your bed. I didn't know it yet, but I'd already made my choice. I'm going to _keep_ choosing you for as long as you'll let me. That's why I need you to let me choose this."

"I don't have the right to make your choices for you," Steve said, voice serious. "If this is what you want, I don't get to say you can't have it."

Bucky pressed one finger against Steve's cheek. "Maybe not, but without you there’s not a choice to make. It’s kind of the same thing."

Steve tipped his head, not quite conceding the point.

"This is what I want. This is the life I want to live. With you. I don’t want to trade it for endless empty years. I want this, right here, right now, with you until the end. I've made my choice. Am I scared? Yeah, a little bit. But we’ve got a long time to go, Steve. I’m not going to waste it."

Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky's thigh, dug his fingers into his calf, because he needed to hang onto him. Took a deep breath. "Yes. If you need me to say yes, then yes."

"Thank you." Bucky leaned forward and slid his hands down Steve's back, kissed the top of his head and rested his cheek against it. After several minutes, he said, "I'm so glad you found me in that alley."

"Me too," Steve said softly, closing his eyes and savouring the warmth of Bucky folded around him.

He kissed Steve's head again and sat back. "You're the only person I _could_ have grown old with and you're the only person I could ever love enough to want to. If I believed in fate, I'd say it was meant to be."

Steve set his chin on Bucky's thigh. "What is it they say?" he asked, lips curving in a gentle smile as he reached up to press his hand over Bucky's heart. "It doesn't matter if you believe in fate, because fate believes in you?"

Bucky blinked, then rolled his eyes. "You've either been reading too many Hallmark cards or eating too many fortune cookies." He grabbed Steve's shoulders and tugged gently. "Get up here, will you? You're killing the mood."

Steve was still smiling as he sat next to Bucky. "I'm very sorry," he murmured as Bucky pulled him close and clung to him. Steve clung right back, pressing his face into Bucky's neck.

"You should be," Bucky told him, holding him tighter. "We were having a moment." He pulled back so he could see Steve's face. "I feel like I really need to kiss you now. Think that would be all right?"

"What does your note say?"

"Always okay, kissing on the mouth, no tongue," Bucky recited from memory. Steve lifted his eyebrows and Bucky smiled, then leaned in to kiss him, one hand against his cheek.

He loved the way Bucky kissed him. He was always so careful, never pushed. Waited for Steve to lean in, to ask for more, before his kiss grew firmer, before he'd hold Steve more tightly. Bucky kissing him made him feel loved, protected, like nothing in the world could touch him.

Bucky's fingers curved around his neck, thumb brushing against the short hairs at his nape, and warmth flowed down his spine and out over his skin. The first time they'd kissed, Bucky had clasped his hands behind his neck. Steve had been worried he was going to use them to pull him in, to trap him in place, but he hadn't, had just rested them there, like Bucky was supporting him. Now he loved it. Would ask for it if Bucky didn’t do it. He almost never had to ask.

Bucky pulled away, smiling, and Steve had to smile back at him. "I love you and I'm going to get to grow old with you."

His heart still wanted to lurch but he tamped it down. Steve knew there would be moments where this would be hard, but this was Bucky's choice and he couldn't be anything but content. "I love you and you are."

"Good," Bucky said, and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

They told Natasha the next day. She rolled her eyes at both of them and patiently let Steve pull her into a hug, dutifully patting his back as if she hadn't held him only the day before. Steve thought he saw a glimmer in her eyes, like the shine of unshed tears, when she looked at Bucky, but he pretended he didn't.

Bucky laughed when Natasha told him about Steve showing up at the club. Bucky had known Steve had gone to Natasha; he hadn't known _where_ Steve had found her. Specifically, Bucky laughed at what Steve had been wearing. Bucky and Natasha were pretty sure it was the first time, and almost definitely the _last time_ , someone had been allowed into the club wearing hiking boots.

Steve threw a pillow at him.

 

* * *

 

As they aged, their lives changed. They moved from apartment to apartment. Steve changed jobs, changed jobs again, and went into business for himself, sick of bosses who tended towards the asshole end of the spectrum. He was successful, successful enough to pay for Bucky to go to school, because they both knew he couldn't work at the club forever.

 

* * *

 

Bucky became an accountant. There were a surprisingly large number of adult entertainment venues—including places people _shouldn't_ be having sex but inevitably were—that had trouble hiring competent professional staff. They were thrilled to find someone _good_ to do their finances, someone who was happy to come to them, to work around their hours.

Bucky's name got around. He found himself with almost more work than he could handle and was consistently well-fed.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, they moved to a house almost, but not quite, in the suburbs. Natasha thought it was hilarious, until they showed her the room they'd set aside for her whenever she wanted to use it.

She didn't speak to either of them for a month, then she barged in and stayed for a week.

 

* * *

 

Steve's fortieth birthday led to his fiftieth led to his sixtieth and Natasha swore the two of them got happier, like their love was wine, becoming finer with age. She was generally scowling when she said it, looking vaguely nauseated. But Steve would catch her watching them fondly when she thought neither of them were looking.

Steve's favourite thing, when he was forty and fifty and sixty, was to wait until she wasn't paying attention, call her name, and remind her he loved her. She'd always look startled and Bucky would laugh himself silly.  
 

* * *

 

Steve had been right: Bucky with silver at his temples was gorgeous. Bucky told him he was biased, because he thought Bucky with wrinkles was beautiful. Thought Bucky with all the lines the years were writing on his body and his skin was only becoming more beautiful.

Thought that every hour and every day and every year made him the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Seventy and eighty came, paving the way for ninety, bringing slowness and aching bones and thin skin. They never stopped loving each other.

As the years passed their love grew fierce and defiant, as if daring anything to come and take it from them.

They stayed in their home. People came to them, nurses and doctors and prepared meals when they couldn't manage.

Natasha brought her prey to their home to keep Bucky fed.

 

* * *

 

When Steve was ninety-eight, they died together in their sleep.

They never let go of each other's hands.

When Natasha found them they were both smiling, the framed note resting on Bucky's chest.

 

* * *

 

The two headstones were in the oldest part of the graveyard, surrounded by graves that had, for the most part, fallen into disrepair. These two were different. Throughout the years, decades passing into centuries, they were meticulously maintained.

Every year on the same day, a beautiful, terrifying woman with blood red hair appeared with two flowers in hand. She became a legend among those who worked at the cemetery. She'd never stay long, would place a flower on each grave then stand between them, shaking her head.

Anyone brave enough to approach would hear her say, "You're both morons, but I hope you're still making each other happy." Sometimes she'd rest a hand on each headstone and whisper, "I know you still love each other."

But always, no matter what she did or didn't say, what she did or didn't do, she remembered them.  

As long as they were remembered they were never truly gone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Every gambler knows, that the secret to survivin'_  
>  _Is knowin' what to throw away, and knowin' what to keep_  
>  _'Cause every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser_  
>  _And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep_  
> 
>  _And when he finished speakin', he turned back toward the window_  
>  _Crushed out his cigarette, and faded off to sleep_  
>  _And somewhere in the darkness, the gambler he broke even_  
>  _But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep_  
>  - _The Gambler_ , Kenny Rogers


End file.
